glaciers, spread secondary glaciers, frequently of great width, but
owing to the limited height of their initial points, of inconsiderable
length. These end generally in perpendicular cliffs overhanging the
rocky amphitheaters at the heads of the smaller streams which flow
eastward into the Cowlitz. Looking up from the bottom of one of these
amphitheaters one sees a semi-circular wall of nearly 2000 feet of
sheer rock, surmounted by about 500 feet of ice, from under which
small streams of water issue, falling in silvery cascades on to the
green bottom below.
A ridge of high jagged peaks connects this spur with the main range of
the Cascade Mts. in the east, and forms the water-shed between the
White and Cowlitz rivers. From the connecting saddle one can look
northward across the brink of six glaciers, which all contribute to
the White River; of these the first four come from the triangular spur
already mentioned and are of comparatively little extent. The first
two are, however, interesting from the vein structure which they
exhibit; they both originate in an irregularly oblong basin, having
the shape somewhat of an inclined ellipse, turning on its longer
diameter, the outlets of the glacier being opposite the foci. Seen
from a high point the veins form concentric lines generally parallel
to the sides of the basin; the ends of those towards the center
gradually bend round, until they join together in the form of a figure
8, and finally just above the outlets form two small ellipses. They
thus constantly preserve a direction at right angles to that of the
pressure exerted, downward by the movement of the ice mass, and upward
by the resistance to this movement of the rock mass between the two
outlets.
The main White River glacier, the grandest of the whole,[22] pours
straight down from the rim of the crater in a northeasterly direction,
and pushes its extremity farther out into the valley than any of the
others. Its greatest width on the steep slope of the mountain must be
four or five miles, narrowing towards its extremity to about a mile
and a half; its length can be scarcely less than ten miles. The great
eroding power of glacial ice is strikingly illustrated in this
glacier, which seems to have cut down and carried away on the
northeastern side of the mountain, fully a third of its mass. The
thickness of rock cut away as shown by the walls on either side, and
the isolated peak at the head of the triangular spur, in which the
bedding of the successive flows of lava, forming the original mountain
crust, is very regular and conformable, may be roughly estimated at
somewhat over a mile. Of the thickness of the ice of the glacier I
have no data for making estimates, though it may probably be reckoned
in thousands of feet.
It has two principal medial moraines, which, where crossed by us,
formed little mountain ridges having peaks nearly 100 feet high. The
sources of these moraines are cliffs on the steeper mountain slope,
which seem mere black specks in the great white field above: between
these are great cascades, and below immense transverse crevasses,
which we had no time or means to visit. The surface water flows in
rills and brooks, on the lower portion of the glacier, and _moulins_
are of frequent occurrence. We visited one double _moulin_ where two
brooks poured into two circular wells, each about ten feet in
diameter, joined together at the surface but separated below: we could
not approach near enough the edge to see the bottom of either, but, as
stones thrown in sent back no sound, judged they must be very deep.
This glacier forks near the foot of the steeper mountain slope, and
sends off a branch to the northward, which forms a large stream
flowing down to join the main stream fifteen or twenty miles below.
Looking down on this from a high overhanging peak, we could see, as it
were, under our feet, a little lake of deep blue water, about an
eighth of a mile in diameter, standing in the brown gravel-covered ice
of the end of the glacier. On the back of the rocky spur, which
divides these two glaciers, a secondary glacier has scooped out a
basin-shaped bed, and sends down an ice stream, having all the
characteristics of a true glacier, but its ice disappears several
miles above the mouths of the large glaciers on either side. Were
nothing known of the movement of glaciers, an instance like this
would seem to afford sufficient evidence that such movement exists,
and that gravity is the main motive power. From our northern and
southern points we could trace the beds of several large glaciers to
the west of us, whose upper and lower portions only were visible, the
main body of the ice lying hidden by the high intervening spurs.
Ten large glaciers observed by us, and at least half as many more
hidden by the mountain from our view, proceeding thus from an isolated
peak, form a most remarkable system, and one worthy of a careful and
detailed study.
FOOTNOTE:
[22] It is a pleasure to note that this fine glacier now bears the
name of Emmons.
[Illustration: BAILEY WILLIS.
From a photograph taken in 1883.]
IX. EXPLORATIONS ON THE NORTHERN SLOPES, 1881-1883
BY BAILEY WILLIS
The Northwest for April, 1883, which was Number 2 of Volume I
of that magazine, contained an article by Bailey Willis,
Assistant Geologist of the Northern Transcontinental Survey.
The article is entitled "Canyons and Glaciers. A Journey to
the Ice Fields of Mount Tacoma." Mr. Willis was born at
Idlewild-on-Hudson, New York, on May 31, 1857. It speaks well
for his skill and training that he should have attained to
such a position at twenty-four years of age.
Since then he has worked out a great career in the United
States Geological Survey, in China and in other parts of the
world. He is now Professor of Geology at Stanford University.
He has kindly revised for this publication the product of his
younger years. And there has also been found a photograph of
the geologist as he appeared when the surveys were made.
To this day, people who visit the northern slopes and parks
of the mountain become familiar with the Bailey Willis trail
and from Moraine Park they get a view of the wonderful Willis
Wall named in his honor.
The Puyallup River, which empties into Puget Sound near New Tacoma,
heads in three glaciers on Mount Tacoma. During the summer months,
when the ice and snow on the mountains are thawing, the water is
discolored with mud from the glaciers and carries a large amount of
sediment out to Commencement Bay. If the Coast Survey charts are
correct, soundings near the centre of the bay have changed from one
hundred fathoms and "no bottom" in 1867, to eighty fathoms and "gray
mud" in 1877. But when the nights in the hills begin to be frosty, the
stream becomes clearer, and in winter the greater volume of spring
water gives it a deep green tint.
For twenty miles from the Sound the valley is nearly level. The bluffs
along the river are of coarse gravel, the soil is alluvium, and a well
sunk a hundred feet at the little town of Puyallup passed through
gravel and sand to tide mud and brackish water. From the foot-hills to
its mouth the river meanders over an old valley of unknown depth, now
filled with material brought down by its several branches. About
eighteen miles above its mouth the river forks, and the northern
portion takes the name of Carbon River; the southern was formerly
called the South Fork, but it should retain the name of Puyallup to
its next division far up in the mountains. A short distance above
their junction both Carbon River and the Puyallup escape from narrow,
crooked cañons, whose vertical sides, one hundred to three hundred
feet high, are often but fifty feet apart. From these walls steep,
heavily timbered slopes rise two hundred to eight hundred feet to the
summits of the foot-hills. These cañons link the buried river basin of
the lower stream with the upper river valleys. The latter extend from
the heads of the cañons to the glaciers. They are apparently the
deserted beds of mightier ice rivers, now shrunk to the very foot of
Mount Tacoma.
From New Tacoma the entire course of the Puyallup and part of Carbon
River are in view. Across Commencement Bay are the tide marshes of the
delta; back from these salt meadows the light green of the
cottonwoods, alder and vine-maple mark the river's course, till it is
lost in the dark monotone of the fir forest. No break in the evergreen
surface indicates the place of the river cañons; but far out among the
foot-hills a line of mist hangs over the upper valley of Carbon River,
which winds away eastward, behind the rising ground, to the northern
side of Mount Tacoma. Milk Creek, one of its branches, drains the
northwest spur, and on the western slope the snows accumulate in two
glaciers, from which flow the North and South Forks of the Puyallup.
These streams meet in a level valley at the base of three singular
peaks, and plunge united into the dark gateway of the cañon.
A trip to the grand snow peak from which these rivers spring was
within a year a very difficult undertaking. There was no trail through
the dense forest, no supply depot on the route. No horse nor donkey
could accompany the explorer, who took his blankets and provisions on
his back, and worked his way slowly among the towering tree trunks,
through underbrush luxuriant as a tropic jungle. But last summer a
good horse trail was built from Wilkeson to Carbon River, crossing it
above the cañon, sixteen miles below the glacier, and during the
autumn it was extended to the head of the Puyallup. Wilkeson is
reached by a branch railroad from New Tacoma. It is on a small
tributary of Carbon River, called Fletts Creek, at a point where the
brook runs from a narrow gorge into a valley about a quarter of a mile
wide. Coal mines are opened at this point. The horse trail climbs at
once from Wilkeson to the first terrace, four hundred feet above the
valley; then winds a quarter of a mile back through the forest to the
second ascent of a hundred feet, and then a mile over the level to the
third. Hidden here beneath the thick covering of moss and undergrowth
of the primeval forest, fourteen hundred feet above the present ocean
level, are ancient shore lines of the sea, which has left its trace in
similar terraces in all the valleys about the Sound.[23] Thence the
trail extends southward over a level plateau. Carbon River Cañon is
but half a mile away on the west, and five miles from Wilkeson the
valley above the cañon is reached. The descent to the river is over
three miles along the hillside eastward.
From Wilkeson to the river the way is all through a belt of forest,
where the conditions of growth are very favorable. The fir trees are
massive, straight and free from limbs to a great height. The larger
ones, eight to twelve feet in diameter on a level with a man's head,
carry their size upward, tapering very gradually, till near the top
they shoot out a thick mat of foliage and the trunk in a few feet
diminishes to a point. One such was measured; it stands like a huge
obelisk 180 feet, without a limb, supporting a crown of but forty feet
more. The more slender trees are, curiously enough, the taller;
straight, clear shafts rise 100 to 150 feet, topped with foliage whose
highest needles would look down on Trinity spire. Cedars, hemlocks,
spruce and white fir mingle with these giants, but they do not compete
with them in height; they fill in the spaces in the vast colonnades.
Below is the carpet of deep golden green moss and glossy ferns, and
the tangle of vines and bushes that cover the fallen trunks of the
fathers of the forest.
The silence of these mountains is awesome, the solitude oppressive.
The deer, the bear, the panther are seldom met; they see and hear
first and silently slip away, leaving only their tracks to prove their
numbers. There are very few birds. Blue jays, and their less showy
gray, but equally impudent, cousins, the "whiskey jacks," assemble
about a camp; but in passing through the forest one may wander a whole
day and see no living thing save a squirrel, whose shrill chatter is
startling amid the silence. The wind plays in the tree tops far
overhead, but seldom stirs the branches of the smaller growth. The
great tree trunks stand immovable. The more awful is it when a gale
roars through the timber; when the huge columns sway in unison and
groan with voices strangely human. It is fearful to lie in the utter
darkness of a stormy night, listening to the pulsating rush of the
wind, the moan of the forest and the crash of uprooted giants upon
the ground--listening with bated breath for the report which may
foretell the fall of yonder tall decaying shaft, whose thick, deep
cleft bark blazed so brightly on the now dying camp fire. The effect
of one such storm is seen in Carbon River Valley, above and below
where the trail crosses. The blast followed the stream and the
mountain slope on the south side; over an area eight miles long and a
half a mile to a mile wide the forest is prostrate. Single trees stand
gaunt and charred by a recent fire, but their comrades are piled like
jackstraws, the toys of the tornado. Over and under each other they
lie, bent and interlaced, twenty, thirty feet deep. Pigmy man strained
his eyes to see their tops, when they stood erect; now he vainly
stands on tiptoe to look over them in their fallen majesty.
To the head of Carbon River from the bridge, on which the trail
crosses it, is about sixteen miles. The rocky bed of the river is 100
to 200 yards wide, a gray strip of polished boulders between sombre
mountain slopes, that rise sharply from it. The stream winds in
ever-shifting channels among the stones. About six miles above the
bridge Milk Creek dashes down from its narrow gorge into the river.
The high pinnacles of the spur from which it springs are hidden by the
nearer fir-clad ridges. Between their outlines shines the northern
peak of Mount Tacoma, framed in dark evergreen spires. Its snow fields
are only three miles distant, but Carbon River has come a long way
round. For six miles eastward the undulating lines of the mountains
converge, then those on the north suddenly cross the view, where the
river cañon turns sharply southward.
Three miles from this turn is Crescent Mountain, its summit a
semi-circular gray wall a thousand feet high.[24] At sunset the light
from the west streams across the head of Milk Creek and Carbon River,
illuminating these cliffs as with the glow of volcanic fires, while
twilight deepens in the valley. The next turn of the river brings
Mount Tacoma again in view. Close on the right a huge buttress towers
up, cliff upon cliff, 2,500 feet, a single one of the many imposing
rock masses that form the Ragged Spur between Carbon River and Milk
Creek. The more rapid fall of the river, the increasing size of the
boulders, show the nearness of the glacier. Turning eastward to the
south of Crescent Mountain, you pass the group of trees that hide it.
This first sight is a disappointment. The glacier is a very dirty one.
The face is about 300 feet long and thirty to forty feet high. It
entirely fills the space between two low cliffs of polished gray
rock. Throughout the mass the snows of successive winters are
interstratified with the summers' accumulations of earth and rock.
From a dark cavern, whose depths have none of the intense blue color
so beautiful in crevasses in clear ice, Carbon River pours out, a
muddy torrent. The top of the glacier is covered with earth about six
inches deep, contributed to its mass by the cliffs on either side and
by an island of rock, where a few pines grow, entirely surrounded by
the ice river. The eye willingly passes over this dirty mass to the
gleaming northeast spur of the mountain, where the sunlight lingers
after the chill night wind has begun to blow from the ice fields.
The disappointment of this view of the glacier leaves one unprepared
for the beauty of that from Crescent Mountain. The ascent from a point
a short distance down the river is steep, but not dangerous. The lower
slopes are heavily timbered, but at an elevation of 4,000 feet juniper
and dwarf pine are dotted over the grassy hillside. Elk, deer and
white mountain goats find here a pleasant pasture; their trails look
like well trodden sheep paths on a New England hill. A curious
badger-like animal, sitting erect on his hind legs, greets one with a
long shrill whistle that would make a schoolboy envious, but trots
quickly away on nearer approach. The crest of the southwest rim of the
amphitheater is easily gained, and the grandeur of the view bursts
upon you suddenly. Eastward are the cliffs and cañons of the Cascade
Range. Northward forest-covered hill and valley reach to Mount Baker
and the snow peaks that break the horizon line. Westward are the blue
waters of the Sound, the snow-clad Olympics and a faint soft line
beyond; it may be the ocean or a fog bank above it. Southward, 9,000
feet above you, so near you must throw your head back to see its
summit, is grand Mount Tacoma; its graceful northern peak piercing the
sky, it soars single and alone. Whether touched by the glow of early
morning or gleaming in bright noonday, whether rosy with sunset light
or glimmering ghost-like, in the full moon, whether standing out clear
and cloudless or veiled among the mists it weaves from the warm south
winds, it is always majestic and inspiring, always attractive and
lovely. It is the symbol of an awful power clad in beauty.
This northern slope of the mountain is very steep, and the
consolidated snow begins its downward movement from near the top.
Little pinnacles of rock project through the mass and form eddies in
the current. A jagged ridge divides it, and part descends into the
deep unexplored cañon of White River, probably the deepest chasm in
the flanks of Mount Tacoma. The other part comes straight on toward
the southern side of Crescent Mountain, a precipice 2,000 feet high;
diverted, it turns in graceful flowing curves, breaks into a thousand
ice pyramids and descends into the narrow pass, where its beauty is
hidden under the ever-falling showers of rock.
This rim you stand upon is very narrow; a hundred feet wide, sometimes
less, between the cliff that rises 2,000 feet above the glacier and
the descent of a thousand feet on the other side. Snow lies upon part
of this slope; stones, started from the edge, leap in lengthening
bounds over its firm surface and plunge with a splash into the throat
of the lakelet that lies in the amphitheater. The ice slope, dipping
into the clear water, passes from purest white to deepest blue as it
passes out of sight in the depths of the basin.
A two days' visit to this trackless region sufficed only to see a
small part of the magnificent scenery. White River Cañon, the cliffs
of Ragged Spur, the northern slope of Mount Tacoma, where the climber
is always tempted upward, might occupy him for weeks. Across the snow
fields, where Milk Creek rises, is the glacier of the North Fork of
the Puyallup, and the end of the horse trail we left at Carbon River
is within six miles of its base. When a trail is built up Carbon
River, the way across this divide will be found, and, with comfortable
stopping places on the two rivers, the tourist can pass a delightful
week amid scenery we now cross the ocean to Switzerland to see.
FOOTNOTES:
[23] The terraces to which reference is here made are not the work of
the sea, but of lakes whose waters gathered between the mountain
slopes and retreating glaciers of the ice period. See the article by
H. I. Bretz. Geol. Survey of Wash., Bull. 8, 1912.
[24] The amphitheaters which the young geologist mistook for craters
are now known to be glacier basins eroded by ice.
[Illustration: MAJOR EDWARD STURGIS INGRAHAM.]
X. DISCOVERY OF CAMP MUIR, 1888
BY MAJOR E. S. INGRAHAM
Major Edward Sturgis Ingraham has visited the mountain
annually since 1888. He has ascended to the summit seven
times and has spent as many nights in the crater. It was he
who gave to a number of the prominent features of the Park
their beautiful and enduring names.
On his first ascent in 1888 the party included John Muir,
most famous naturalist of the Pacific Slope. Since he found a
sheltered pumice patch and suggested camping there for the
night, Major Ingraham called it Camp Muir, now well known to
all climbers.
Major Ingraham prepared an account of the ascent which was
published in The Puget Sound Magazine for October, 1888. That
magazine has long since ceased to be issued. It was edited by
the editor of this present work, who has rescued the article
from the rare and almost forgotten files.
After an extensive career as superintendent of schools,
printer, militia officer and miner, Major Ingraham has been
devoting his later years to the boy scout work, in which his
love for the mountains plays an important part.
A glacier on the mountain bears the name of Ingraham. How
that came to be, is related by him as follows: "One time when
I was on the mountain encamped at the Camp of the Clouds,
Professor I. C. Russell and another man, both in their shirt
sleeves, came tottering into my camp at early morning. They
had been caught upon the summit and had spent a shivering
night in the crater. I treated them the best I knew how and
they departed. When their maps came out I found that a
beautiful glacier had been named for me--Ingraham Glacier."
Mount Rainier, one of Nature's masterpieces, is the most striking
object of grandeur and beauty amidst the unsurpassed scenery of
Washington Territory. Occupying nearly a central position
geographically in the Territory, it is alike an object of pride to the
inhabitants of the Great Plain of the Columbia and to the dwellers
on Puget Sound. There are other peaks that command our attention, but
it is to the old monarch that we turn with unfeigned pride and
exclaim, "Behold a masterpiece!"
The height of Mount Rainier, as estimated by triangulation, is 14,444
feet. This height was verified by barometer in the hands of one party
that reached the summit in the month of August of the present year.
From many points of view it appears a single peak; but in reality it
is composed of three peaks of nearly the same height. These peaks may
be designated as northern, crater and southern. They are not in direct
line, but occupy apexes of an obtuse-angled triangle. The northern
peak is a cone, with its apex about two miles from the summit of
crater peak; the southern peak is somewhat flattened on top, and is
about one and one-half miles from crater peak. Crater peak, as the
name suggests, has two large craters, with well-defined rims--one
sloping slightly towards the northeast, and the other towards the
southwest. The culminating point of this peak is a sugarloaf-shape
mass of pure snow, about one hundred feet above all adjacent points.
The northern and southern peaks are inaccessible, except from crater
peak, owing to the precipitous condition of their sides, which are so
steep that snow will not cling to them except in small patches. Down
these sides, during some seasons of the year, avalanches go thundering
almost hourly with a roar that makes the tourist shudder with fear.
The volcanic condition of Mount Rainier is everywhere apparent. For
miles before the base is reached vast quantities of ashes, forming the
greater part of the soil of that region, plainly tell of extensive
eruptions; the immediate foothills are covered with masses of red and
black lava; while pumice is found in great abundance upon some of the
ridges. All these evidences suggest that, long ages ago, Rainier was
the scene of volcanic activity of immense magnitude. Ascend to the
top, behold the two well-defined craters, with their rims perfect;
descend those walls, and try to count the many jets of steam
constantly puffing forth their sulphurous odors, and one is led to
believe that Rainier has been active at a comparatively recent period.